The Missing Fortunato
by DarthJake
Summary: Sherlock Homes is employed to find The Missing Fortunato after the events of Edgar Allan Poe's story, "The Cask of Amontillado." You should probably go read that really quick before you read this but don't worry, its short.


The Missing Fortunato

It was a pleasant evening, that one night in August, and unfortunately I was spending it in Paris, away from the comforts of the Baker Street flat in London I have come to call home. John Watson, my doctor, partner, and dear friend had forced me to travel to Paris saying a vacation would do me good. That I was "working too hard". As if there was such a thing. Things are much too quiet here in Paris. I even resorted to exploring the musty catacombs to escape the dreaded monotony. However, perhaps I was wrong about Paris. For it was this night that a letter was delivered to my hotel room. Addressed to me. Sherlock Holmes. And yet, nobody should have known I was here. Desperate to relieve myself of the boredom that plagued me, I opened it and began reading. It was from the wife of a powerful and respected lord by the name of Fortunato. She had not seen her husband for several days since the local carnival and had heard my whereabouts were near through her husband's connections. She offered quite the reward if I could find her husband. Later that night, I set out to meet her at her palazzo. And so in this way I began the case of, The Missing Fortunato.

It was around the stroke of midnight when I finally reached her palazzo. As I walked up, I took note of the large, grey stone arches and marble columns of the imposing house and assessed Ms. Fortunato could indeed pay the exorbitant price she had waved in front of my nose. Once I knocked on the massive, oak front door, I was greeted by two servants who promptly escorted me to the study. There, Ms. Fortunato was waiting for me.

She was sitting rigidly by the hearth in a large, leather chair that was obviously not hers, most likely her husband's, judging from the fact that the worn part of the head cushion was slightly higher than her own head. With dark eyes staring deep into the crackling fire, she began to talk to me.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for coming to hear my case so promptly."

"It was a short walk from where I was staying. Besides, when it comes to cases of the nature you described in your letter, it is best they are dealt with in a quick manner, if they are to be dealt with at all."

Still looking distantly into the fire she replied, "Then you best start now."

"In regards to your pay, I will not accept the full sum of it."

Ms. Fortunato gave me a swift sideways glance and proceeded to say, her voice slightly trembling, "I don't care how much money you take. Just bring my husband back to me. Please." She now looked fully at me with the desperate look of someone who has little to none hope.

Sighing, I took a seat in the green brocade chair opposite Ms. Fortunato from the glowing hearth. "I'll take the case. But I cannot guarantee I will find your husband. As you said in your letter, he has been missing for three days now and could be anywhere."

Turning again to the fire, her face downcast, she replied, "All I ask is that you try. I know I may never see him again but I cannot feel at rest until I know I have done what I can to get my husband back."

"In that case, please tell me all you know about where your husband was before he disappeared. You already said all of this in your letter, but I always like to hear it directly from the client."

Turning fully towards me in her chair this time she proceeded to tell me composedly about the night of the carnival.

"Three nights ago, my husband and I were at a carnival party hosted by my husband's business friend, whose wife is also my good friend. While she and I talked inside with the other wives for what felt like hours, the men were outside with their after dinner drinks." Ms. Fortunato turned back to the fire but continued to talk, her voice faltering. "After this there isn't much more to tell. When everyone began to go home, I simply couldn't find my husband."

She had turned slightly pale, as if she was vividly remembering the horror she had felt when she had searched and searched for her husband to no avail.

"I'll be on my way then." I said and I got up to leave, but before I could leave the study she had one more thing to say.

"Mr. Holmes. Please bring my husband back to me." She said looking at me again with pleading eyes. "At the very least I can't stand not knowing what has become of him."

I nodded saying, "I'll do what I can." And with that I left, being escorted to the door by another servant.

The first thing I did later that morning was meet with the host of the party. Their palazzo was almost as grand as the Fortunato's and there were still visible signs of the party from three nights ago. Sparkles in the dirt from broken wine glasses which had been mostly picked up and slightly stained areas on the stone walkway from spilled wine showed things had gotten a bit out of hand perhaps, this accompanied by slight footprints crossing over each other in every direction revealing there had been a large gathering of people. With so many people, things would not be as easy as following the footprints since at the present time there was no way of telling whose footprints were whose.

From the couple who had hosted the party I procured the guest list. It was extensive, but could be cut down. As Ms. Fortunato had said, all the women had been inside, so there would be no use in asking if they had seen what had happened to Mr. Fortunato. This cut the list to some 28 people. As I went from person to person, I realized most of them had been too inebriated at the time to remember the details of the party. It was not until I reached the third Mr. Martin on the list who did not drink but still enjoyed the company of others, that I was able to obtain any useful information.

From Mr. Martin, a cheerful fellow, I learned Mr. Fortunato had abruptly left the party with a stranger after being incredulous and amazed with something the stranger had said. Mr. Martin had been unable to identify the stranger because he had been wearing a black mask for the carnival. He was, however, able to point me in the general direction the two had gone.

I now had narrowed the choices of footprints to follow. Still, there was another way to deduce which trail might be his. When people walk, they exert different pressures on different parts of the foot than the next person might. This causes different wear on each person's shoe. So by requesting a pair of Mr. Fortunato's most worn shoes and from them, judging from the fact that the outside part of the souls were extremely worn and the inside part of them were almost unworn completely, I determined Mr. Fortunato had a habit of walking slightly on the sides of his feet instead of flat footed. And thankfully for me, there was only one set of footprints that matched that criteria, that was facing in the direction Mr. Martin had seen Mr. Fortunato walking, and that was accompanied by one other person's footprints. Not allowing myself to waste any more time, I hastily followed the trail. It was approaching evening.

The trail of footprints lead me to the home of the Montresors. The trail, however, did not go directly into the main home, but rather the wine cellar entrance that was on the side of the house. As I approached its entrance, with a dismayed glance I noticed that two sets of footprints had gone in, but only one was leading out back to the house.

I proceeded deeper and deeper into the wine cellar, following the path of recently disturbed dirt, and realized the cellar was actually a part of the catacombs of Paris. It was relatively hard to miss the brown, flaking skulls and numerous other bones lining the walls. In fact, once I followed the trail to the main part of the catacombs, I began to recognize certain parts of it from my short time exploring them earlier.

The path then continued straight under a wall of bones and back out again with only one pair of footprints. A close examination of the wall determined that the wall of decayed bones had not always been as it was now. There were marks on the bones where they had previously been stacked in a different configuration. Additionally, there was little dust on the bones so they had to have been disturbed recently.

I then proceeded to tear down the wall of bones with my walking cane and found an interesting discovery. There was a freshly mortared red brick wall behind the bones. Due to how damp and moist it was from being below a riverbed, the mortar had not dried all the way and could still be easily disturbed. I began to knock the bricks off from the top backwards with my walking cane again. When I had finally brought the wall down to approximately chest level I was able to peer over it.

There in the small compartment laid the body of the late Fortunato, chained to the wall. But still the question remained, who had put him here? It could have been the owners of the house, a servant, a friend of the owner…anyone.

"I see you have found my dear friend Fortunato. It's a pity you had to come down here and discover him. He and I had much fun together the night of the carnival."

I turned around to find the source of the sudden voice. It was Mr. Montresor who had with a crazed smile on his face. He had somehow managed to sneak up behind me and was pointing a rapier at me.

"So it was you?" I said in a calm voice, which might have unnerved him slightly.

"Of course it was me," he hissed with a vicious coldness that seemed to drop the temperature of the already frigid catacombs. "That Fortunato insulted me one too many times." His mad smile widened. "But it doesn't matter I've told you. Soon you will be joining our Fortunato behind that wall for the rest of eternity," and with that he lunged at me with his rapier.

Repeating the movements I had practiced so many times as a fencer, I disarmed Mr. Montresor with a circular movement of my cane, throwing his rapier across the room. Immediately the coward turned and ran. I followed in hot pursuit. Apparently, he was planning on running through the catacombs randomly to lose me. Luckily for me, I knew this area of the catacombs quite well. Soon, he ran down a path I recognized as having a shortcut to its other end. So I broke off and followed it.

Having made it to the other end before him, I hid in waiting. Once he rounded the corner, I came forth behind him and, using my cane, struck him accurately on the back of the neck, parallel to the ear on a pressure point, effectively knocking him out.

From here, there is not much else to tell. After dragging Mr. Montresor to the surface, I turned him in to the local authorities. I then informed Ms. Fortunato of her husband's death- she was devastated but thankful to know what had happened. I'm not as good as John at wrapping up these cases in writing. I'll be happy to have him to compose them once again when I return to London. But for now, perhaps, I will try to enjoy my remaining time in Paris. By finding another case.


End file.
